


Cookbooks from Effie

by endlessnightlock (Endlessnightlock)



Series: One Night Stands (aka One-Shot Collection) [5]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Christmas in a round about way sort of, Comfort, Couch Cuddles, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Holiday, couch sharing, growing back together, talk of baking cookies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:01:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21704884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Endlessnightlock/pseuds/endlessnightlock
Summary: Just a little post-mockingjay growing back together story where Peeta sleeps over for the first time since coming back home.
Relationships: Katniss Everdeen/Peeta Mellark
Series: One Night Stands (aka One-Shot Collection) [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2001196
Comments: 50
Kudos: 117
Collections: The Hunger Games 2019 Season of Hope Holiday Gift Exchange





	Cookbooks from Effie

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Word_Addict](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Word_Addict/gifts).



  
  


It’s predawn when my mind swims back up into consciousness from a deep sleep. I think that was the first restful night I've had since I've been home. No nightmares.

As I start to notice where I am, I'm also suddenly aware of the person behind me on the couch. It only takes a millisecond to remember the events of last night, and when I do, an odd surge of both relief that _I know who it is_ and panic because _I know who it is_ floods me at the same time—a broad chest behind my shoulders and strong arms surrounding me.

It's Peeta. 

I remember falling asleep on his shoulder last night as we sat by the fire. He’d spent a good portion of the evening sketching, and I was feeling drowsy from the warmth of the fire and the effect of a bad night the one before. It was later than he usually stayed at my house, but it’d been a good evening, and he seemed as hesitant to leave as I was to tell him goodnight. So when Peeta finally mentioned that it was late and he’d better head home, I asked him to stay instead.

If I'd been more alert, I wouldn't have had the nerve to ask him because I’ve spent so much time fretting over what he would think if I brought the subject up. Would we need to talk about things before we resumed sleeping together the way we used to on the train and in the Capitol before the Quarter Quell? I didn't know exactly what to say to him, but I missed sleeping with him.

And I know that after everything we've been through together, not to mention what's been done to him because of me, Peeta should hear the truth from my lips. I want to tell him, but the words just won’t come. They'd be inadequate even if I could get them out.

I've tried to bring up the subject, to force myself to say how I feel, but it's nothing doing. My mouth and brain always freeze up at the same time, and I'm left staring over his shoulder or down at my feet. Recently I concluded that I'm pretty much worthless and deserve to have him at a distance for the rest of my life if I can't figure out how to tell him what he deserves to hear. 

Looking back at it now, I’m glad my exhaustion created a breach in that self-defeatist attitude because he didn't make it hard on me. Despite all the hell he’s been through, he’s still the same Peeta. He gives and gives, undeterred by the lingering effects of his hijacking or my inability to share my feelings with him. 

And maybe he's missed sleeping with me too.

“Yeah, of course,” he said, and it was so simple I wished I’d had the nerve to ask him sooner. “If you want me to, I’ll stay.” 

With that memory, I finally open my eyes for good, letting my vision adjust to the early-morning gloom of the living room.

At some point, the fire had gone out, and instead of getting up to add more wood to the fireplace, Peeta must’ve found a blanket to cover us up with. The room is chilly, but only the tip of my nose is cold. Underneath the covers, I am warm and comfortable from his nearness. There’s a pillow under my cheek, and one of his arms lies underneath it while the other is around my waist.

We’re lying so close right now I can almost imagine we’re back in the first games sharing a sleeping bag. That was such a close, happy time together. It was before we really knew each other and before I realized how deep his love for me ran. It's was confusing because my head insisted that his words and actions were part of the act, but I think my heart always knew otherwise. 

Now I know him so well, but I don’t know exactly how he feels about me anymore. I’m so used up and broken, just a shell of the girl I used to be. I don’t think there’s enough of me left to love. 

Last night began typically enough. Peeta arrived for dinner just as he always did, bringing some sourdough bread to go with the meat and vegetable stew I’d prepared.

The two of us had been doing our own cooking for a while now, once we managed to convince Greasy Sae that we were capable of feeding ourselves. Most days, we managed well. If it'd been a bad day for me, he’d bring over bread, and we'd eat bread. If he were exhausted from the effects of a flashback, the two of us would have something I brought home from the woods.

Occasionally Haymitch will come by and eat with us, but only when his liquor supply runs out. We always make sure to take him some, and he eventually eats them.

We're surviving.

And once she realized that we weren't going to starve on our own, Sae began helping refugees from Thirteen. I don't think she knows how to do anything but cook for other people; it's too much a part of her at this point to stop. She prepares group meals in town while we make sure she has the supplies she needs. Peeta brings some bread, and I share my game. The residents of Twelve are receiving plenty of supplies on the train now, but fresher food tastes better and isn't a burden to help. The three of us still receive Victor’s earnings from the new government of Panem. We all have more coin than what we will ever need- even Haymitch, who spends a small fortune on booze.

I suppose it’s the least our new leaders think the country can do.

The war took such a severe toll on us, stripping away everything that made us human. Our families, our friends, our place in the world, our sanity. Some of those things we were slowly getting back, some of them we never would. A stipend couldn't give us back our unscarred selves or replace Prim. It couldn't bring my grief-stricken mother back. The coins weren't able to save any of Peeta’s family. 

We are broken but still trying. We aren't giving up. It isn't much of a life in Twelve, surviving each day, but it’s the only thing we can do to make sure the sacrifices of those who gave their lives mean something. 

If we don't try then, Snow wins, and we can't let him win.

Last night when he came, in addition to the bread, Peeta also brought an armload of books that’d come from Effie. “What are those?” I asked him as he sat them on the counter to take off his jacket.

"Look for yourself," he told me, gesturing towards the pile. "They're fun to flip through."

I grabbed one off the stack, flipping through the pages while he filled me in. “The last time I talked to Effie, I mentioned that I wanted to get some new recipes for the festival. She must’ve scrounged these books up from some dusty corner of the Capitol," he said, and I wrinkled my nose at the musty smell. "They're pretty old, but I think they'll do.”

The Winter Solstice Festival will be a brand new holiday here in Twelve, with its inaugural run taking place in a few weeks. Its purpose is to help raise residents' spirits before the darkest, coldest part of winter begins in earnest. There’s to be music and dancing, along with the planned refreshments, and crafters are going to set up tables with homespun wares for sale. I don't know if I'll feel like mingling too much, but it'll be nice to see others enjoying themselves, even from the sidelines where I'm likely to be with Peeta.

“So these are cookbooks,” I surmised. There were recipes interspersed with photographs- pictures of pine trees decorated in shiny strands of material, colored bulbs, and lights of all sorts, fireplaces covered with boughs of fir, and ribbons on everything. That last detail made me smile. _Prim_ _would_ _have_ _liked_ _this; I_ let myself think for one shimmering moment before I banished the dark thought to the back of my mind. It wasn't the time for tears.

“Yes, mostly, that’s what they are. Except for this thing...” Peeta made a disdainful face, holding up an offensively neon-green book away from him as if it were a rancid piece of meat. “I hope this made it into the pile by mistake.”

“We can use it to start a fire,” I said helply, shrugging. It was probably for the best. The book was truly hideous.

He smirked, surprising me by tossing it nonchalantly in the direction of the living room. My eyes went wide at the action, and we both laughed when the heavy volume landed much too close to Buttercup for his liking, clattering off the hardwood floor and startling him. The cat shot up, shrieking indignantly and darting out of the room. He hissed as he passed us. 

"That's what you get for being impulsive," I said. "You really should leave that to me."

“Probably."

"I'm much better at it than you," I teased.

"Anyway," Peeta continued, "since the things I’m working on are from memory, I thought these books might be a good starting point. I can use one of these recipes to guide and make the changes I want as I go. And maybe we-”

“We?” I asked. While I know my way around the kitchen well enough to fix meals, I don’t have the patience to bake and decorate as he does. He's so meticulous and artistic, and I don't have a shred of either in my bones. Helping him sounds like a disaster waiting to happen.

Peeta grinned. “Yes, _we_. There’s a lot of work that needs to go into this, and I could use some help.”

“Hmm, maybe you should ask Haymitch then,” I told him casually, turning around and standing on my toes to get the plates down from the cabinets. “I’m not much of a baker.” 

Peeta came up behind me, reaching over my head to grab the elusive dishes, the ones I’d only been able to brush the edges with my fingertips. I paused and waited for him to back away. I never know what to do around him anymore.

“You don't need to be. And besides, I don’t think anyone wants goose-shit scented cookies,” he said dryly, setting the plates on the counter. 

He did have a point. Haymitch wasn't the most cleanly person, especially after he'd been on a bender. 

“Come on, Katniss, it’ll be fun, I promise. We can go through the books and choose some things that don’t look too difficult. From what I gathered reading these, families used to bake cookies for the winter holidays. Maybe we can try it ourselves, make it our new tradition. What do you think?”

Is that what Peeta thinks of me as- his family? I guess that made sense because the two of us are the only thing the other has left. It was a comforting thought, Peeta as my family and me as his.

Haymitch is our drunk uncle.

I liked the sound of it very much. Family.

In whatever way he meant it, I liked it. 

“Fine, if you insist. Just nothing too fancy, okay? I don’t want you to give me a job that I can mess up,” I told him as I set the silverware and cups at our places. I pulled my chair out to sit down when he joined me at the table.

“Deal,” he said, reaching over and taking my hand. He held on for a moment before squeezing it gently and letting go. At his touch, my heart did an odd thing inside my chest, almost like it stuttered a moment before picking up the pace again. 

Behind me now, I feel the telltale muscle twitches and small movements that tell me he’s waking up. He startles but seems to relax quickly. Peeta must have forgotten where he was. “Good morning,” I tell him quietly, as we lay with the length of his body pressed against the back of mine. Waking up together again feels a little strange, slightly awkward even. It’s not unfamiliar; it’s just been so long since I’ve slept in his arms. 

“Hey,” he answers after a moment, his voice gravelly from sleep. I can’t help but wonder what he’s thinking. Does he regret staying here last night? Peeta wiggles his fingers on the hand that rests underneath the pillow after a moment. “Can you sit up? My hand’s asleep; I need to move it.”

“Alright,” I raise my head a little so that he can slide his arm out from under me. I begin to sit up further, feeling slightly disappointed, assuming that he’s going to get up for good now, but Peeta shifts just long enough to take his hand out from underneath the pillow before quickly laying back down again.

“It’s too cold to get up yet,” he answers my unspoken question. Peeta wraps his other arm tighter around my waist, and I can feel him exhaling on the back of my neck. I burrow further into our warm cocoon, pulling the blanket up over my nose as he squirms around behind me, trying to find a comfortable spot. He finally settles in, and we lay in near silence as the sun rises higher and higher.

Daylight is beginning to spill in through the bottom edge of the curtains before either of us speak. “How did you sleep?” he asks finally, after what seems like hours of laying on the couch together, cozy and warm and content.

“Very well, actually,” I admit.

"Me too. I always did sleep better with you,” he gives my hip a gentle squeeze, and I scoot forward far enough to allow him to sit up all the way. “Do you still want to come over this afternoon and help me bake?” Peeta asks once he's sitting up again. He reaches for his shoes.

I tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear, a little self-conscious all of a sudden. We already discussed plans for today, but that was before we spent the night together. I think he’s giving me an out in case I need some alone time. Peeta knows me well, but today I don’t want to be alone. “I’ll be there.”

“Good,” he says, smiling. After putting on his shoes, he stands and attempts to brush the wrinkles out of his pants. I feel awkward sitting on the couch and watching him get ready to leave, so I stand up as well, crossing my arms over my middle.

Peeta surprises me then. He steps towards me, and my arms immediately drop to my sides in surprise. He doesn’t say anything, just tilts my chin up with his fingertips, and ducks his head, pressing his lips to mine quickly. The contact is soft, and over before I’m aware of it.

I’m left stunned- it’s the first time we’ve kissed since he’s been back. I don’t know what to think.

He clears his throat. “So I’ll see you later then?”

I look up. There’s a faint blush to his cheeks and a half-smile turning up one corner of his mouth. “When do you want me?” I ask, scowling as soon as I realize what I said. Real smooth.

Peeta laughs a little, but not at my expense. It’s more of a bemused gesture like he can’t believe anything happening this morning is real. “Anytime is good; I don’t have any other plans for today. I’ll be right next door whenever you want _me_ , okay?”

His offer is clear as day. It’s not just about the cookies. It’s the fact that he’s offering more of himself to me. It’s a barrier of trust we reopened last night. I nod, finding the hem of my shirt and twisting it between my fingers. “I shouldn’t be too long.”

He looks as if there’s more he wants to say. Peeta opens and closes his mouth a few times until finally, he seems to give up. He shakes his head. “I’d better go home and take a shower. I’ll see you in a little bit Katniss.”

“Bye for now,” I tell him as he shuts the door. A moment later, I go to the window and watch as he crosses the street to his own house. 

Once he’s safely inside his own home, I go upstairs to use the shower myself. 

There’s a definite urgency in my step. The sun is shining brightly through my windows, cutting through the seasonal grey skies for now. It’s a beautiful morning, and today I’m going to be happy.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed. I love comments :).


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